Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.
Heart's Desires – Chapter 14
Presently Tom stood with Mike just outside a hangar at Scott Air Force Base. The Gulfstream Jet, situated on the tarmac in front of them, was at the tail end of a battery of pre-flight procedural tests. The base was well organized and clean and reminded Tom of many of the military installations he'd visited over the course of career: classic brick and mortar with handsome facades, both meaningful and patriotic with an air of important history. Miraculously, Scott had held its own during the worst of the viral outbreak, leaving behind a higher percentage of its populace comparative to the global percentage of survivors … which presently amounted to a core group of tenacious personnel along with some civilians.
The weather was clear and bright, the early morning sun slowly rising to its perch high in the sky – the air, crisp with moderate humidity – all of which yielded perfect flying conditions.
"How do you really feel about this Harley character coming with us?" came Mike's baritone.
Tom trained his keen eyes on the ground crew while they worked. "I'm all right with it …," he answered, standing at ease, he turned his attention to Mike. "But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't an additional aspect of this mission to be concerned about," he added candidly. "It's not that I don't think he's trustworthy, but I'm concerned that our mission, in its entirety, will be scrutinized somewhat and I'm not looking forward to that, should it come down to the court of public opinion," he stated evenly.
"Neither am I," Mike agreed and then he sighed, "I suppose anyone who wasn't with us on the James will never really have an appreciation for how it all went down, that was one hell of a mission."
"The mission of a lifetime … and then some," Tom concurred. He sighed with resignation. "And it's far from over," he added. "After securing the Philippines … we'll need to regroup and figure out how our long-term strategy of rebuilding Naval Operations might coincide with the stabilizing viral outbreaks … in tandem with Michener's growth plans, of course …," he exhaled, watching the the head engineer now as she engaged with Colonel Dan Holbrooke – their chief pilot and Tom's Air Force counterpart – both in rank and years of service.
"It's never gonna end, is it?" Mike pondered then. He pressed his lips together into a grim line and exhaled.
"No … not in the foreseeable future," Tom answered. "But we're here," he nodded with a tight smile. "We made it …," he declared. "And so did a heck of a lot of other people because our work … and that's the takeaway," he surmised, fixing his eyes on not only his XO, but his valued friend. "That's the silver lining we have to remember when we come under fire for the decisions we made," he sighed with the knowledge that delving into the chronology of the race and chase for the cure would undoubtedly bring forth some uncomfortable realizations.
Mike nodded in assent to Colonel Holbrooke as the pilot trained his eyes on them and nodded. "Looks like we could get the green light anytime now … I'll alert the crew," he reported in.
"No time like the present," Tom nodded in assent.
###
Having spoken briefly with Holbrooke, Tom entered the hangar again, his eyes adjusting to the darker interior as he swiftly made his way to the waiting area in a suite of operations offices located in the far right corner of the massive space. He slipped inside the office from the back door, the room was warm and lively with conversation and smelled of baked goods and coffee. His presence went unnoticed and therein he took the opportunity to quietly survey the team, his family included. Observing the kids now, he looked on as they enjoyed some breakfast and sat alongside Burk, Taylor and Miller where it seemed they were devising a complicated schedule for an 'UNO Tournament' of sorts.
He nodded at Wolf Taylor and looked beyond the kids to Rachel, where he realized she'd been watching him from her perch inside a conversation between Granderson and Phillip Harley. He slowly nodded and tenaciously held her gaze – patiently waiting for her cheeks to turn pink – and then, just like that … as if under his command, they did. She was a picture of health, her physique, both flushed and relaxed and that alone made him a happy man. She shook her head ever so slightly at his antics and seamlessly turned her attention back to the duo with whom she stood.
Tom smiled to himself until for no reason other than association, 'Baltimore' popped into his head. He trained his eyes on Alisha Granderson then and studied the young woman for a moment, her eyes brighter than he'd seen a long while. Remnants of 'Baltimore' still permeated though – the inkling, nothing in particular at first – just the name of the city, 'Baltimore' … but before long he was struck by a barrage of stock memories that hit him akin to a ton of bricks: Amy Granderson dropping to her death at his feet, Lieutenant Foster and the baby and her defensive wounds, Rachel Scott held hostage … his kids and his father … and Darien.
'Baltimore' … under siege, his chest tightened, his pulse spiked.
He looked away from Rachel with haste in search of amnesty and noticed his father sitting with Mike and Russ, their heads bent over some aerial maps and photos of the islands they all knew so well … in theory. Distracted, Tom glanced at his watch and then looked up to find Danny disappearing behind a large indoor tree situated in the corner – his arm slung protectively along Kara's lower back – the planter obscuring his view until he caught a glimpse of her pregnant form again when she turned around to face Danny.
And it was here that Tom somehow found himself unintentionally lost inside the young lovers' emotive goodbye. For try as he might to look away, he simply couldn't – for in some substantial way, he realized how invested he was in them – far surpassing his custody as a ship's Captain, but more familial, not quite a father … but close enough.
He blinked and looked away from their intensity only to find Rachel's eyes again where he found comfort inside the more somber moment. She tilted her head and regarded him. Her keen, all-seeing eyes surely assessing him now as he nodded to her – saying without words, 'I'm all right' – to which she replied to him with a curt nod of her own before politely excusing herself from her conversation and approached him. Harley followed her movement briefly before he turned back to Granderson.
Rachel stood at his side now where her gaze followed his and she came to understand the sudden change in his façade. They remained comfortable in an easy silence then for several long beats, eyes transfixed on Danny and Kara until he heard her voice, both low and intimate.
"Memories resurfacing?" she asked of him.
Tom sighed and replied candidly, "You could say that." He turned to her and pressed his lips together, releasing a measure of tension. "Even days apart could feel like a lifetime now …," he observed, turning his attention back to the young couple where he could readily see how every moment mattered to them. "Everything is so … monumental …," he articulated evenly. "Especially moments like that – stolen away, all alone – made even more intense without the customary fanfare at the docks or a Change of Command Ceremony to distract them …," he sighed wistfully, his mind set briefly on Darien before he let her go.
"I remember …," Rachel said softly. "The day we left Norfolk – there were so many ceremonial proceedings – and equally as many bright white uniforms … they were everywhere all at once …," she smiled, turning to him again with her face flushed and gorgeous eyes, dancing. "White uniforms … why is that?" she wondered, switching gears; she moved a half of a step closer to him.
Tom smiled and surreptitiously brushed his knuckles across hers, surrendering now to his innate need for physical contact with her … he tempted fate instead. "Hmm … Summer White Service uniforms …," he sighed wistfully. "A short sleeve uniform for officers, usually worn with a combination cap …," he went on with small smile, his mind on the day they left for the Arctic. "Traditionally used by officers following the Change of Command Ceremony and made of Certified Navy Twill … a robust polyester weave," he chortled, his eyes once again on Danny and Kara, watching now as the young sailor reached for his woman and drew her near. Tom turned back to Rachel. "White uniforms are typically worn when a vessel leaves port in the summertime … this classic style boasts a moniker, 'The Milkman' …," he smiled at the memorable formality of it all.
Rachel smiled up at him. "You're so eloquent when you speak about your realm …," she sighed, her glassy eyes pinned to his. She blinked and broke their connection.
"So are you …," he admired.
The couple eased back and into their thoughtful silence then as they fixed their eyes again on Danny and Kara – now ensconced inside an ardent embrace – a moment made of high emotions in apparent seclusion … all restraint having dissipated now as they lost themselves inside of one another. Tom's heart twisted for them and a dull ache tugged at his muscle – his mind deluge with the many occasions he'd bid Darien farewell – their last few moments alone … truly alone, typically spent wrapped around one another in their marriage bed the evening prior. His pulse raced … she was gone but not forgotten. He blinked hastily in an effort to stave off his resurfacing emotions.
He sighed and heard himself say, "Look at them, Rachel."
"Clinging to hope …," she replied and then looked up to find him. He saw that she had capped her right elbow in her left hand, a tell tale sign of her fatigue. She inclined her head and pressed on. "Do you think she will be all right?" she persisted tentatively.
"I do … she's a strong woman … with a stronger than ever support system," he said encouragingly.
"She is … very strong, admirably so," Rachel agreed, shifting on her feet.
Tom smiled at her, "So are you."
Rachel smiled in tandem and held his gaze. "I can be …," she sighed.
"We have about a half hour, would you like to get some tea and sit down?" he asked of her then. "I could use some coffee," he smiled.
"I'd like that," she smiled and they turned and walked together to the small continental breakfast bar. "And Danny? How do you think he'll do?" she asked of him as she reached for a tea bag.
Tom smirked, watching her now as she studied the tag on the teabag before she dropped it into the paper cup. "He'll be all right too, we'll make sure of that …," he nodded in assent. The pair busied themselves preparing their beverages for quiet moment before turning around."Let's sit," he suggested then, pointing to an open waiting area style sofa in the corner.
Once seated, Tom took a sip of his coffee surveyed the space again – the team looked good – healthy, rested and ready with fresh faces much like the hundreds he'd seen at every port before leaving on tour. He took another sip of his coffee and watched Rachel as she sampled her tea wherein he anticipated her reaction … smiling now as she appeared to be less than enthused.
"Good stuff?" he chortled playfully.
"Terrible," she deadpanned, batting her lashes at him. "One day … I'll have fine tea again," she sighed dramatically.
Tom chuckled and pressed his lips into a thin line. He shook his head at her antics and watched as she reclined against the back of the sofa, adjusting the placement of her right arm in an effort to ease her pain. She took a meaningful breath, in and out and he let her be.
He observed the room again now and realized that his vantage point had changed such that he could now see Kara's face in plain view. Her brow was knitted with worry and her cheeks, pink with emotion, though her face was fuller and her aura suddenly appeared to more ethereal … her pregnancy no doubt, the impetus. And as such, her natural beauty was somehow made apparent to Tom … and then just like that – she had become more than his dedicated TAO – for he saw the woman she was … and the mother she would become.
His heart shimmied and his eyes darted around the room where he found his kids again and scrutinized them … searching for signs of unease or frailty, though he found no cause for alarm. Sam had moved and was situated between Mike and his father and Ashley was happily perched on armchair nearby, her eyes on her book. They were all right; he was assured now as he lost himself inside their innocence – their tender hearts frayed on the inside – but coated with a sheen of bravery on the exterior. He took a cleansing breath and turned back to Rachel wherein he followed her gaze and was back where he started: Danny and Kara.
"Where … do you think …," she sighed and shifted in her seat again. She shook her head and turned to Tom, surprised to find him watching her. She blushed. "Never mind," she muttered.
Tom gave her a disarming smile and leaned closer, "What?"
"No, forget it," she smirked coyly.
"Come on … tell me …," he chortled conspiratorially, his eyes dancing with hers now.
He smiled broadly wherein she seemed to acquiesce, her eyes darting to the corner again, lingering on the young couple before she spoke. "Well… if … sex …," she whispered, her voice low … intimate, playful. "Is so … taboo and forbidden …," she sighed; her face flushed, rosy and pink.
Tom smirked, "Go on."
"When do you think they conceived their baby …," she asked of him then. "In the Arctic somewhere right before –"
"The Russians," Tom finished for her, his mind searching the timeline for insight now.
"Yes …," Rachel answered.
Tom exhaled and shook his head. "No … no …," he paused and watched the couple again, noticing that they both seemed more at ease. He turned back to Rachel. "No … with zero tolerance on fraternization … frivolous sex …," he paused. "It just doesn't exist, it's not worth the risk …," he rationalized aloud. "Really … a time of high emotional turmoil or stress would be the most likely culprit for the cessation of boundaries …," he continued. "My guess is that they became a couple … and were abstaining … waiting … to get home …," he breathed, searching for the right words.
"A couple … in hiding," Rachel mused.
Tom nodded. "I believe so, because of how distressed she was by the time she ousted herself …," he sighed. "The pressure had mounted, before that, a fact I had put together later," he explained. "But that day ... in the lounge, there was no question of their commitment …," he navigated carefully.
"All in the name of the virus ... or Dengue fever …," Rachel sighed downheartedly.
"Or love ...," Tom countered evenly, his eyes fused to hers now, somewhere on the edge of condoning the young lovers' behavior.
"Yes … there's that too … love …," Rachel answered and held his gaze until she blinked and looked away from him. "So there was a driving force that propelled their need for … physical contact … and intimacy …," she reasoned aloud and then suddenly turned back to him, her eyes bright and animated. "Like our embrace!"
"After the trials … yes …," Tom reminisced, positively stunned by her beauty.
Stilling his heart now, he inhaled sharply as she stole his breath away wherein he privately basked in the memory of that embrace, for it felt luxurious and rare and necessary to hold her then, he could admit that much. Yes, the simple truth was – the world felt safe inside those seconds they spent wrapped around one another – a stolen moment made from adrenaline and relief that covered them akin to a blanket straight out of the drier.
"It was a memorable moment … as fleeting as it was …...," she whispered before her face fell slightly and her voice trailed off.
Tom smiled at her then, watching as her mind played with the timing of it all while he did the same – fully captivated by her fascination – and of the idea of the conception of a baby upon a Navy destroyer … a tiny ray of hope created inside the eye of a storm at sea.
He sighed and offered his opinion, "My best guess … it was after the Italian cruise ship – after Ensign Benz's death, he and Green were tight before they got on the James – they had history." He shook his head and found himself rationalizing the couple's actions again. "The loss of brother is … traumatic … and well – things were confusing and the virus was new to the crew – and we hadn't picked Tex up yet at Gitmo … so Green didn't have a bunkmate …," he reasoned thoughtfully.
Rachel smiled and kept her eyes trained on the couple. "Makes sense … the opportunity … the rationale for a stolen moment …," she contemplated and then turned back to Tom. "Do you think those happen more than you realize?" she wondered then.
Tom held her gaze, "What?"
"Stolen moments," she answered.
Tom found himself smiling. "Moments alone, perhaps …," he breathed. "But any sailor will tell you – sex on the ship is just way too risky – and nothing good generally comes from it …," he said and then he shook his head as he stared at her still. "Except for maybe in this case," he chuckled, surprising them both.
Rachel smiled. "Yes … we should focus on the positive …," she agreed, her eyes playful now as she pinned them to his. "And just so we're clear … Captain …," she whispered suggestively. "I like to take risks," she sassed, promptly lightening the mood.
Tom rolled his eyes teasingly and agreed, "I know you do."
The young lovers emerged from their private corner just then. "Shall we?" Rachel wondered, glancing their way.
"Sure," he replied.
They stood in unison and approached the couple where Tom decided to hang back and let Rachel take the lead. He smiled tightly, his eyes vacillating between both lieutenants, a bystander for the moment as he watched the scene unfold as Rachel engaged with Kara first by embracing the younger woman while Tom slowly nodded with encouragement to Danny, tenaciously holding his gaze where he silently acknowledged their plight and identified with their high emotions.
Clapping Danny on the back, he maintained his focus on the positive. "Fortunately for us – we've got a team of experienced pilots to fly us to our destination – and in a weeks' time, we'll be back," he smiled broadly. "If we went Navy style, it would be six months," he surmised evenly. "I know that doesn't mean much – but in light of everything – we have to live this life at the moment … and keep our eyes on the prize," he suggested.
"Yes, Sir," Foster answered with a curt nod.
"We're all right, Sir," Green confirmed, his sensitive eyes moving to Kara's before he turned back to Tom and nodded.
Tom smiled broadly, appreciating them. "You're better than all right, you have each other," he deemed thoughtfully.
###
Having been airborne now for about five of the seventeen-hour flight, Tom, Rachel, Mike and Russ finished reviewing the finer particulars of the mission. The only intricate detail that remained unclear was the ideal timing for Rachel to administer the contagious cure boosters to Jed and the kids. The singular limitation of the cure was that it was only contagious for about five days once it took hold and became viable. As such, the team collectively decided to wait until the island was liberated before administering the booster, as one was dependent upon the other.
So as the plan stood now, once Green obtained the all-clear from Tom's team, the boosters would be administered and they would make the two-hour flight from Subic Bay Freeport Zone to the tip of the Palawan Islands via a large twin-engine amphibious flying boat they had secured from the Philippines government.
From there, the tac-teams would be reunited and thereafter begin curing the sick people quarantined along the coast, resulting in the 'freeing' of the 'hostages' located further inland (the people who had been safe from the virus all along because of the island's locale and wind patterns).
Sighing with satisfaction now, Tom enjoyed a temporary reprieve – having somehow found himself sitting alone on an airplane full of people – Rachel having gotten up to stretch her legs while Russ and Mike began to debrief the men. As such, Tom took the opportunity to collect his thoughts, training his eyes on the horizon through the small window to his right – once again reminded of the stark differences between this mission and others under his authority – his perch high in the sky this time, with only one window to the outside world, the 'vessel' in someone else's control – versus his all-encompassing view from the bridge and the hands-on manner by which he commanded a Navy destroyer.
Grappling with his feelings of loss of control, Tom redirected his focus and watched the kids for a beat. Tilting his head as he made eye contact with his father – whom nodded in assent with approval – a relaxed Sam curled into the crook of his arm. He smiled and regarded Ashley, her legs tucked under a blanket, her chin balanced in the palm of her hand as she dozed without worry. Beyond her, he observed Phillip Harley, a reading light on above his head, a hot cup of something on his tray table as he poured through stacks and stacks of photographs.
Indeed, everything was quiet – save for the hum of the jet as it swiftly moved them across the ocean – full speed ahead toward their destination at six-hundred miles per hour … the wild blue yonder of the sky … just as vast and endless as the sea.
###
Much later, after a quick debrief with Holbrooke following the successful exercise of the mid-flight refuel – and just under ten hours of flying time accumulated – Tom watched the sun set via his small gateway to the outside world and only then did he finally feel the balance of his adrenaline ebb slightly … wherein he noticed the same was true for the rest of the team, seeing now that everyone was retreating and recharging in their own way.
Burk, Green and Cruz … sitting erect, eyes closed. Miller in his own world – headphones on – eyes pinned to the sherbet colored sky of dusk. Wolf Taylor, chin cradled in his palm, a book entitled, 'The Fighter's Mind: Inside the Mental Game' lay on his chest … and Mike and Jeter, a sight to behold, seats reclined, the dynamic duo … fast asleep.
Smiling to himself, he exhaled and felt amassed fatigue reach his eyes as he took once last look at his family while they slept on without anxiety. And then to his left, where he finally allowed himself a private moment to focus on Rachel – her soulful eyes closed, her gorgeous face, relaxed – wherein he noticed the fierce intensity of her persona was missing and all that remained was the woman he'd fallen for again and again. And it was on this thought that the curtain of his mind closed … and sleep came for him as well.
###
Ensconced within his deep thoughts, the world fell away and Tom inhaled a lasting breath of the deep sea air; his eyes closed to the vast horizon in front of him for lost beat in time. The cold wind slammed against his face, but the high-noon sun warmed his back akin to a hug.
He exhaled and gripped the cool metal railing of the bow and listened contently to the familiar hum and din of the ship and sound of the water churning far below him as the vessel moved on and forward in perpetuity.
With his eyes still closed, he concluded, there really was nothing more serene than a moment alone amongst so many sailors – for the life of a Naval Captain was at times, a lonely one – and yet time spent truly alone at sea … was rare.
Of course there were split seconds, moments spent alone in deep thought on the bridge as the sun rose or set over the horizon – reflective moments where time came to halt and everything was at peace – but those moments were often stolen … and quickly forgotten when duty called and time began to move again.
He shifted on his feet and quietly held himself inside this moment – maintaining his solitary stance – he inhaled sharply and savored the briny breath of air as if it was his last.
###
Roused from his dreamscape, Tom blinked rapidly now, his eyes adjusting to the fragmented light while he quickly assessed his surroundings. He turned to his left and saw Rachel wasn't there. He stood and stretched his back – slowly making his way toward the small sliver of light coming from the rear of the aircraft – his eyes moving along the sea of his slumbering companions as he did.
Stepping into the triangle of light – time indeed halted again – as he found Rachel alone, her gorgeous figure eclipsed by the oversized sweater she had donned during the flight. She was standing in the rear of the galley kitchen – her right hand formed into a purposeful fist – her arm stretched out in front of her. She opened her hand and repeated the exercise, the fluorescent light seeming to accentuate the crease of discomfort that formed along her beautiful face. He shifted on his feet and she turned and found him there. She smiled and took his breath away without even trying.
He entered the small space and came to stand in front of her where she backed into a deep corner and peered up to him. "You all right?" he asked of her then, resisting his innate urge to gather her in his arms and covet her.
She searched his eyes for answers, much like she always seemed to do. She smiled and answered, "Just stiff."
"Anything I can do?" he wondered, furtively assessing her well-being – his voice hushed by the hum of the jet engines – her expressive, yet tired eyes tenaciously pinned to his now as he stepped closer.
Her chest rose as she inhaled sharply and looked beyond his shoulder to the entryway. "No … I just took a Motrin …," she replied softly, reaching for his hand, she effectively restored their connectivity: instant, familiar … essential.
"First one since this morning?" he queried, pressing his palm against hers, he laced fingers through hers and held her steady.
She smiled with appreciation and stepped closer to him, her cheeks flushed now, "Yes … I hadn't felt the need until I woke up a bit ago."
He sighed and felt her cloistered stress ebb, though he was well aware that her unease was still percolating … an undercurrent of sorts. But then the tension in her hand eased and he reacted – rotating their mutual stance so he could more easily watch the entryway behind her – and thereby ensure their privacy for this stolen moment.
"That's good news," he smiled, for her reduced need for medication was a true mark of her healing. "Is it working yet?" he whispered thickly.
His heart racing slightly as the subtlety of her magnetism urged him forward now – where he found he was unable to quell his desire to touch her and without thinking – he raised his free hand and traced his fingertips along her halo and came to cup her face.
She titled her head into his hand and leaned into his touch. She smiled. "Yes, I think so … I'm fatigued again," she answered, wherein she closed her eyes briefly and pinned her hands to his hips.
Tom sighed and watched her for a beat, smoothing her hair away from her face. "Shall we?" he asked of her then.
She opened her gateways and stared at him, her simple beauty on display. "Yes, let's …," she whispered her reply.
And so they released their hold upon one another and turned toward the entryway together – but not before Rachel tugged on his arm – drawing him back and away from the darkened cabin and into her embrace where they held one another for a long, private moment. A singular lost moment in time travel – one where they relinquished the balance of their stresses, fears and lingering fatigue – innately absorbing those harsh elements for one another. Sighing in tandem – they breathed together – silently reestablishing their connection now without restraint, whereupon they drew the strength they needed from their willful union.
Tom inhaled sharply, his heart beating wildly, his nose pressed into her crown – the essence of her shampoo filling his lungs as he breathed her in – her arms slung low against his back with her cheek to his chest, her ear to his heart. Letting go, his eyes promptly shut where he lingered with her, deep inside those cherished minutes alone … minutes that somehow became tantamount to a full night's sleep.
Rachel sighed into their heat and tipped her head up to find him, her intense eyes softer around the edges now. "I needed this …," she confessed. "A stolen moment with you …," she breathed.
His heart thumped. "Me too," he whispered before he ducked his head down and impulsively brushed his lips across hers – both warm and vital, he delivered a kiss that was barely there at all – but resonated where it mattered most: in the deep fiber of his being.
###
Having slept uninterrupted for about two hours, Tom settled back into his seat after escorting Sammy to the restroom and depositing him into the seat to his right. He raised the armrest where his boy promptly lay his head down and burrowed deep into an Air Force issue blanket. He sighed and traced comforting circles along his warm back, waiting now for his breathing to regulate.
Relishing in the comfort his son provided, Tom trained his eyes on Rachel now, asleep on the row of seats facing his – armrests raised, she'd assembled a makeshift bed – her head elevated on a stack of blankets, her right arm stabilized by her left hand. Her simple beauty evident, her face illuminated by the dim cabin lights. Tom's stared at her for a long while then, the quiet solitude just enough for him to stop and really appreciate just how far they'd come on this journey together. With his own breathing regulated now, he lost himself in her tranquility for a beat longer before his thoughts turned to the mission again.
Before long, he reached for his tablet and toggled the device. It came to life, the ambient light radiating as he accessed the satellite images of the islands. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he surveyed the small string of tropical islands, searching for the variant or outlier they hadn't uncovered of yet – for there was always something that cropped up when it came to uncharted territory – whether it be at sea or on land, one rule of thumb held true: the unexpected was always unexpected.
He studied the images, still unable to put his finger on what seemed troublesome, for even with the refugee-insurgent camps set up along the coastline – the islands, Flora in particular – were gorgeous and well-preserved … somehow proving that the world was a beautiful place before the virus took hold and ravaged it so.
Somewhat defeated now, Tom accessed the heat maps Mason had provided – recalling Gator's report that the instances of heat in the more remote parts of the island were too small to be human – but there was something so curious about a one of clusters he'd spotted. He zoomed in on the map now and found it with ease – it was a mass of yellow-orange (which meant less heat) – but it was larger than all of the other remote spots on the overlay (aside from the red sensors one could see and would expect, which indicated the position of the hotel and of course and the refugee-insurgent populace).
He sighed with resignation, he wasn't troubled by it per say – but he was curious – for the heat was in a remote spot, near a fresh stream that ran through the middle of the island. It was an outlier. An unknown. And once the island was liberated, Tom knew the team would have to investigate it.
It was here that he sat back to ponder this idea in greater detail until he smelled the faint essence of coffee waft through the cabin. Akin to Pavlov's dog, his sensors began to stir. Craning his neck back, he saw Harley's profile in the kitchen. He'd donned a jacket and was rubbing his hands together. Tom smiled into himself and turned back to the tablet where he switched gears and began to review a map of the terrain.
Before long, Harley came upon him, double-fisted. Tom looked up to find him, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. "Not quite morning … or evening, Mr. Harley," he chortled, careful not to disturb Sam and Rachel.
"Captain …," the reporter smiled kindly. "I saw you were up too and thought you might like to join me for a cup … black … right?" he queried, offering one of the cups to Tom.
"That's right," Tom nodded, appreciating the man's attention to detail as he held the hot cup, the aroma filling his lungs now. "Please … sit," he motioned to the empty seat to his left. "Tell me about yourself," he added casually, searching for a common ground.
He shifted in his seat and set the tablet next to his thigh, the remaining light diminishing now as the pair sat in the fragmented darkness together.
"Time for my second interview?" Harley asked pointedly as he sat down.
"No …," Tom smiled. "But what know of each other is rather superficial, even what you know about me could be deemed as such," he elaborated and took a sip of the scalding elixir.
Harley smiled and maneuvered his tray table into position. He set his cup down. "And so … now you want to delve?" he wondered, sparring lightly.
Tom shook his head. "No, I don't want to pry …," he replied with sincerity, finding the man's eyes in the dim light. "But given the state of the world – and what people out there have been up against – I'd like to know your story … I mean … why would it make sense that your story is any less important than mine," he appealed to Harley's intellect with diplomacy now.
"I suppose, in some ways, you're right … only thing is, I wasn't in command of the ship that brought the cure to the world …," he smiled appreciatively.
"Well … there's that, yes … but in the end – aren't we both just men – caught in the crossfire of this thing?" Tom wondered, his circular thoughts on fate and destiny resurfacing now.
"Men with timing on our side … and wits to help us out …," Harley breathed poetically.
Tom smiled. "I suppose – but you are about to spend a week with my family – and again in today's world, people may not be as forthcoming as they once were … and coming from the cutthroat environment we all just lived through, I'm sure you can appreciate my … reluctance to trust … outsiders …," he sighed heavily.
Harley nodded in assent and answered, "I understand … really I do … it's just been a long time since someone asked me how I was doing." He took a sip of his coffee.
Tom sighed, sensing the man's unease. "It can be lonely world …," he offered then, his eyes moving over the cabin until he focused on the rise and fall of Ashley's chest. His heart pinched.
"It can be …," Harley offered. "Even without an apocalypse," he smirked, though his glassy eyes betrayed him.
Tom sighed and thought of Harley all alone out there and even though the man was rather harsh and judgmental the day they met, he also knew that Harley had character and a keen desire for the truth – for he had survived and persevered – and like many pragmatists, Tom and Rachel included, he hadn't given up on his search for answers … and that had to count for something.
"So … how are you doing?" Tom asked of him then, pushing aside his need to protect his loved ones in favor of lending him an ear. "How have you been?" he persisted casually, his eyes fixed on the reporter's now, his free hand in place on Sammy's back.
Harley smiled at the gesture and inhaled sharply … and from that moment on, it was as if a floodgate was opened. For he left no part of his own story untold, easing into an open and honest rapport with Tom about his life … and his life choices.
For Harley was a career reporter and most of his adult life was spent traipsing the globe for National Geographic Magazine. He was one of those people who took took ingenious, gritty photographs and wrote stories that illuminated the earth and its populaces. He was architect in his own rite and lobbied for his own points of view through his storytelling – he was well traveled and extremely well educated – and after speaking with him, Tom thought he was both sympathetic and empathetic to the causes and the people he cared deeply about … and therein, he reminded him of Rachel.
Harley also concluded that 'this life had become his life' – and by that he meant – that he forewent the idea of a traditional lifestyle in favor of the chase. He often didn't pursue relationships because his curiosities were not yet satisfied … his drive for answers had not yet been quelled. Sure … he'd met plenty of women over the years – one or two that perhaps held his attention and garnered the idea of a life yet lived – but he also admitted … he always thought he had time. He always thought there would be an opportunity.
And then the virus took hold and it became his greatest quest and the most damning sign of a reality he had long-since discounted and dismissed: he was lonely. He was only child and his parents had passed away years ago (thank goodness they were spared from the virus) … which left him alone in his fight for survival. A fight that became daunting in a way he hadn't expected. With no bloodline. And no legacy to lean on in the worst of times.
###
"So … you see … I'm alone in this world," he concluded evenly, his eyes glassy now. "And the joke is, I always have been …," he muttered. "There's no cruel twist of fate here," he sighed resolutely. "I chose this life – and I kept waiting for the right time, kept waiting for a sign – or something … or someone who'd make me want to slow down and create a life in one place …," he shook his head and looked away.
Tom sighed and took the last sip of his coffee. He set the cup down on Harley's tray table and searched for the words to articulate his thoughts. "You're not alone," he deemed after a long moment, his eyes drifted to Rachel. His heart leapt. "And I think you know that …," he encouraged. "Most of us are rethinking how we lived our lives before the virus …," he sighed, his thoughts migrating to his own shortcomings. "And how we could have done or said things differently…," he breathed. "How we could have been more honest in our approach … how we could have said how we really felt … but never trusted ourselves enough…," he mused, training his eyes on Harley's now.
The subdued reporter nodded. "I suppose, it's the human condition … and in some ways, one would expect a gross amount of reflection …," he offered. "Which would yield any number of unanswered questions and unearthed emotions … I'm a prime example of that …," he sighed, his voice trailed off; he twirled his empty cup in his hand and set it down on the tray table.
Tom studied Harley now, watching him for signs of duress before he replied, "It's precisely that way – and from my own perspective I've often wondered – why the Nathan James didn't arrive in Baltimore with those first doses of the cure … even a couple hours earlier …," he shook his head in disbelief that Darien was indeed gone, even now, after everything. "For if we had, my wife … she might have had a fighting chance …," he confessed, his voice cracked.
He cleared his throat and tipped his head up in an effort to push his waiting tears into recession – for his goal had not been to make this conversation about him – he inhaled sharply and righted his head, looking on at Rachel's sleeping form again as his heart was pummeled in an unexpected battle between lost and found … loves.
Harley followed his gaze and smiled weakly. He turned back to Tom. "Life is unpredictable, Captain … and timing, irrevocable …," he declared then, his serious eyes vacillating now. "That much as been proven – it's like tsunamis or earthquakes or cyclones or tornadoes – there's no rhyme or reason to them … they just happen …," he muttered.
Tom nodded in assent. "That they do," he agreed.
"And no amount of perfect timing can protect us because there's no such thing as the ideal time for an ill-fated natural disaster … or for destinies interrupted … or redefined by change …," he vindicated aloud.
"Fate …," sighed Tom. "It always comes down to fate …," he breathed. "We've been grappling with that – Rachel and I – this idea of fate or destinies … redefined … and it's a lot to ponder …," he confided, offering Harley some insight into the sensitive nature of his relationship with Rachel.
"Except … there's nothing to ponder really – that's just life – and it's always been that way …," he rationalized, training his intense eyes on Tom's.
"You sound a lot like my father," Tom mused thoughtfully. And then he smiled. "A summons for change, perhaps?" he queried now. "With a second chance … or two or three thrown in for good measure," he sighed heavily, daunted by the intricacies of it all.
Harley interjected now. "Call it what you will, Captain – but nothing will change the fact that the world got tipped on its side when that virus struck – and that you and Dr. Scott ended up on your ship together … the perfect match to defeat the perfect storm … a partnership … a relationship made of perseverance, selflessness and hope," he suggested ardently.
Tom sighed with resignation and trained his eyes on Harley's again. He pressed his lips into a thin contemplative line and shook his head. "Remember when I asked you how you were doing?" he chuckled.
Harley smiled, "I do."
"Then how come we're talking about me?" Tom muttered.
"Because I'm good at my job," Harley answered.
Tom sighed, "A fact I can't refute." And then he smiled. "What if I left that offer on the table then?" he wondered.
Harley exhaled heavily and nodded in assent, "I'd like that."
"You know, you'll be surrounded by fine people this week … and you should take advantage of that …," Tom suggested then. "My father and Rachel …," he smiled. "And Lieutenant Green and Colonel Holbrooke … really … they're cream of the crop … plus, you get my kids for the innocence factor …," he sighed wistfully.
Harley chuckled and his eyes softened, "Sounds like a good deal."
"It is …," Tom agreed. "And so … in the interest of forming some bonded relationships – for yourself and your future – I urge you to start now … with us …," he sighed. "Because there's no time like the present … and we both know that," he offered sincerely … finally finding that common ground.
"Yes… I suppose we do," Harley acquiesced gracefully.
"It's the here and now that matters most …," Tom exhaled, his eyes landing on Rachel. He inhaled sharply and his eyes stung with emotion – for they had each other – and the truth was, they had more than most.
"Yes … something akin to a new beginning," Harley offered, his eyes moving between Rachel and Tom now.
Tom nodded in assent. "And so it seems … that time is upon us now – and whether our fates or destinies have been altered – you and my father are right … that's really irrelevant …," he exhaled and held Harley's gaze. "It's what we do with this second chance, that counts …," he impressed upon him.
And with that statement of truth, Tom began to answer some of Harley's questions on the finer points of the mission – outlining the scientific urgency – diplomatically focusing on the peacekeeping and nation building aspects of it all as these ideals were aligned with Michener's overall message.
Before long, their discussion moved on to Harley's article wherein Tom asked the man for a reprieve so that he and Rachel could speak with the kids about their relationship before the publication. Harley, more affable now, agreed to this term and offered Tom his support, in whatever means possible.
Tom sat back and appreciated the sincerity of Harley's gesture, realizing now just how far they'd come since he offered him that cup of coffee. Seeing more clearly now that sometimes – people just needed a second chance – and not just for what seemed to define them on the surface as they once were not too long ago: Tom, a Naval Captain, tried and true, unquestioning in his endeavors … and Harley, a loner with an imaginative mind and eye for a good story … but for what they were now: men … just men with a common ground on a quest for survival.
The conversation waned and Harley retreated back to his seat where promptly closed his eyes and Tom was left alone with his thoughts again. He closed his eyes too and drifted off to some other place entirely until he sensed a shift in the here and now and opened his eyes whereupon he saw Rachel was awake and watching him. He smiled and exhaled.
"Is Sam all right?" she asked, her voice laden with sleep.
"Yes," he breathed with a smile.
She smiled too and gingerly pushed herself up. She rose from her 'bed' and came to sit next to him where her sleepy eyes found his in the darkness. "I'm glad," she whispered, naturally slipping her warm hand into his. "Is this okay?" she wondered, looking down at their hands.
Tom gave her hand a squeeze in response, quickly scanning the cabin as he did. "Yes," he answered, his eyes fastened to hers now – comforted by her mere proximity, he leaned into her, his lifeline tethered now – their faces so close that he could easily spot those sparkling ochre specks in her eyes that captivated him so. "Do you know how lucky we are?" he whispered thickly then, his heart racing.
"I do … you know I do …," she breathed her answer – pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek – her lips lingering just long enough to make an impression.
Tom inhaled sharply and turned his head then, wasting no time before he kissed her sweet, familiar lips – soft and supple, he pulsed his mouth against hers – and lost himself inside the protective canopy of yet another stolen moment with her … because the man he was, right now … sought their connection. And rather than stand on ceremony and wait for the right time to present itself … he decidedly seized the moment instead. For the world was indeed changing – and he was determined to change right along with it – for what more could a man do than go after what he wanted most: the dream of a life yet lived.
To be continued …